One Last Little Christmas Present
by CritterKeeper
Summary: Hobbes and the Keeper bring Darien a little Christmas cheer. But why is there an unopened present still on his shelf?


One Last Little Christmas Present  
  
  
"Are you sure we should do this?" the Keeper whispered to Hobbes as they approached Darien Fawkes' door. "Maybe he has plans. Maybe he has company."  
  
"Then we drop off our presents and leave him to his plans or his company. But he seemed, I dunno, pretty lonely. He mentioned he used to spend Christmas with his brother whenever they got the chance."  
  
Claire had no reply to that. She knew Darien and Kevin had once been extremely close, despite drifting apart over the years. Of course he would miss him more around the holidays.  
  
Hobbes knocked, and they waited a little nervously until the door cracked open. It closed again quickly and faint scratchings indicated the chain being pulled loose. Darien, in a scruffy T-shirt and sweats, barefoot, leaned in the doorway.  
  
"What's up, guys? Is there some problem? You need me to --"  
  
"Merry Christmas, Fawkes!" his partner piped up, his Keeper chiming in a breath later. "Nothing official, we just wanted to swing by and see if you wanted to join us in a little last-minute Christmas cheer." Hobbes slipped a bottle partway out of his coat pocket. Claire frowned at it but didn't say anything, yet.  
  
"Uh, sure, guys, come on in!" Darien looked pleasantly surprised. Turning from the doorway back to his apartment, he paused and frowned. "Can you give me a minute to tidy the place up?"  
  
"Don't go to any trouble, partner. It can't be half as bad as my place, and besides, I've seen it."  
  
Darien darted ahead of them and scooped up some laundry from the floor, dumping it on the floor of the closet. He really didn't have much else to pick up, but he didn't want his Keeper to have to sit next to his old underwear.   
  
"There's eggnog in the fridge, if you guys want some."  
  
"I'd love a glass, Darien. Thank you."  
  
"And I've got the nog right here," Bobby chimed in, pulling out his bottle.  
  
Darien grinned. "If you don't mind, partner, I think I'll skip that part. I've seen what the gland does with the flu, I'm not ready to try getting it drunk yet."  
  
Claire clearly approved his decision. She herself, on the other hand, took a big gulp from her eggnog and then filled the glass back up with the rum.  
  
Darien pulled out two small packages, handing one to each of them. "Merry Christmas!"  
  
Hobbes and Claire flashed a smile at each other -- they had worried that if they brought gifts, they'd leave Darien in an awkward spot if he had nothing for them, so they hadn't mentioned their gifts to him. This gave them their excuse.  
  
"Back at'cha, partner!" Hobbes pulled a small box from inside his jacket, and Claire followed suit with one from her purse.  
  
Darien's gift to Hobbes was little more than an envelope. He opened it with mild curiosity, which turned to delight.  
  
"A calling card! Darien, this is so cool!"  
  
"Yeah, well, it's only good for half an hour, but at least you won't be digging around for change at a critical moment."  
  
Claire couldn't think of anything personal like that Darien could have gotten her. She actually squealed with surprised delight when she opened her present.  
  
"Darien, I didn't even realize they had a new album out!"  
  
"Consider it a Christmas present and an apology all in one." The CD was from the same group Darien had heard blasting on her stereo during his little unauthorized foray into her house. "For how I found out you like them, that is."  
  
"I already forgave you, Darien. Now, open your presents!"  
  
Hobbes' present was a pair of sunglasses, just like a pair Darien had been admiring in a store window a few weeks before. His old pair had gotten smashed in the line of duty.  
  
"So when you go all freaky on me, I don't have to look at those weird eyes of yours," he joked.  
  
It was obvious from the shape of Claire's present that it was a videocassette. Darien unwrapped it with great curiosity. What would the Keeper have on tape? He laughed aloud when the tape turned out to be "Harvey," starring Jimmy Stewart.  
  
"And," she added, reaching into her pocket, "I brought something for your tree." She pulled out a little figure hanging from a string. Darien caught it up, and discovered it was an Invisible Man action figure, dressed in trenchcoat and wrapped in bandages.  
  
"It's perfect!" he said, going over to the tree to hang it in a prominent spot.  
  
Claire caught sight of something on a shelf behind Darien. "Ooh, hey, looks like you forgot one."  
  
"Better open it soon, partner, 'cos Christmas is over in...thirteen minutes!"  
  
Darien glanced behind him at the small package on the shelf, and flushed. "Um, actually, I wasn't going to open that one tonight."  
  
"Why not? It's Christmas!"  
  
His head ducked down and his cheeks got redder, but his tone remained casual and unapologetic. "I've been doing it since I was a kid. Kevin and I used to compete to see who could be the last to open a present. It got so we were saving the last ones for weeks. And when I was in juvie, away from my family, they'd pass out these stupid little presents, like ties for the boys and bows for the girls, and I'd leave mine wrapped as long as I could, even though I could see what was in it from what everyone else got.  
  
"I guess it's turned into a way to keep Christmas going a little longer, make the fun and anticipation last. And a way to remember Kevin in the good times, the happy times." He turned the little package over in his hands, then set it firmly back on the shelf. "I know what's in it, and I don't need it right now, so why not?"  
  
"Aww, I think that's very sweet, Darien!" Claire reassured him.   
  
Hobbes polished off the last of his eggnog. "Well, partner, feel like watching that video tonight? Or were you heading for bed?"  
  
"Um, actually, much as I'd love to stay up, I doubt I could keep my eyes open for it. Maybe another night?"  
  
"Sure thing, Fawkes. I should probably be heading for bed too, now, before all the eggnog catches up with me."  
  
"You've got a couple of days before you need to see me, right, Darien?" The Keeper asked, glancing at his wrist.  
  
"Easily. As long as the fat man doesn't call, that is." Darien smothered a yawn, but it showed in his eyes. "Drive safe, both of you. And merry Christmas!"  
  
Once they'd safely gone, Darien sank back onto his couch. His gaze was inevitably drawn to the last Christmas present. He sat staring at it for several minutes.  
  
It was well past midnight now. Somehow, it hadn't seemed right to open *this* package on Christmas, and he definitely didn't want to open it in front of his partner or especially his Keeper. He wasn't even sure he wanted to open it at all.  
  
Darien carried the little box over to the breakfast counter in his kitchen, slowly removing the genericly festive wrapping paper to reveal a small cardboard shipping box. He pulled out a paring knife and slit the heavy tape at either end, being careful not to damage the contents. Tilting the box gently, he slid out a small case.  
  
*Why did I do this?* he thought to himself. *Why did I even order these?*  
  
The answer was simple, of course. He'd been in the early stages of Quicksilver Madness. What really puzzled him was why he hadn't cancelled the order once he'd gotten a fix of counteragent. Why he'd left things alone all these weeks, why he didn't stop it.  
  
On the lid of the case was the name of an expensive contact lens maker in Europe. They did mostly regular contacts and colored contacts, but had developed a strong sideline supplying the theatrical trade and Hollywood with specialty lenses. Eyes for vampires, space aliens, and zombies were often as not ordered from them.  
  
He'd told them some sob story over the phone, about a chronic medical condition, which he supposed was true enough as far as it went. It was actually an easy order, a combination of two types of product they were quite skilled at making, just not in the usual combination.  
  
Slowly, his hands shaking slightly, he raised the lid of the case. Looking back at him, in clear plastic holders, floating in saline solution, were his eyes.  
  
His normal eyes. Pupils average size, irises with green directly around the pupils and brown from there to the outer edges, the sclera a healthy white with tiny blood vessels just visible.  
  
Unlike regular colored contacts, these contact lenses would cover his entire eye, hiding that nasty red color that spread and deepened the further into madness he sank. They would allow him to fool his friends, his colleagues, his enemies, into thinking he was perfectly normal. Even the pupils were darkened, like tiny sunglasses, to help hide his own pupils when they were constricted with the fifth stage.  
  
He walked over to the sink, turned on the water, started the disposal, all the while his eyes never straying from the other pair of eyes looking wetly back at him through the plastic. He opened the inner plastic and stood staring at himself for several minutes. Then he slowly reached up and switched the disposal back off.  
  
Finally tearing his eyes away, he glanced around the apartment. He snapped the case shut again, the contacts kept safe in their little saline-filled pockets. He pulled several books off the bookshelf, filling his arms, and carried them into his bedroom, dropping them on the floor in front of his dresser.  
  
Setting the case carefully on the bed first, he stacked up the books in different combinations until he had a stack just slightly higher than the bottom edge of his dresser. He began restacking them under the edge near the right front leg, until one book was left with not quite enough room to slide it into place on top.  
  
Shifting his weight, he leaned against the dresser, tilting it towards the wall, until the front edge came up just enough to slip that last book into place. As he lowered the dresser back to vertical, the front feet were left hanging slightly above the floor. The weight now off of it, he tapped the right front leg towards the right end of the dresser with the heel of his sneaker. The top of the leg was fitted into a little track so that it could only move the one direction, and only when all weight was off of it. It slipped out of place easily, revealing a hollow space within. A special lining ensured that anyone looking for hollow spots would hear the same thunk on this leg as on the other three.  
  
He stared at the case another long moment, trying to get up the nerve to smash it, to hurl it across the room, to bring it to Claire or Hobbes and ask them to keep it away from him for God's sake. He did none of these things.  
  
*Options,* he thought miserably. *In my life, I don't have many options.*  
  
Using these would be a betrayal, and it would be dangerous. The only time he would need them would be when he was out of control and more in need of his colleagues and, yes, his friends, than ever before. It would put them and the rest of the world in grave danger from what he might do.  
  
And yet....  
  
Sighing, he slipped the case inside the hollow leg and slid it back into its proper place. He tilted the dresser back and knocked over the stack of books with his toe, then lowered it and began gathering up the books to return them to his shelves.  
  
Darien made a mental note to buy something small he could show up with at work in a few days. Maybe a new watch, or a ring. Even if they didn't ask and he didn't say anything, he knew they would remember and assume that was what had been in his last unopened Christmas present. One more lie, one more little betrayal. *To go with all their lies and betrayals to me,* he told himself, but the thought was hollow.  
  
That night, though his tattoo was still mostly green, Darien's dreams were dark and tinted the red of madness. 


End file.
